Interrupted
by luvsanime02
Summary: One-shot. Ed knew he shouldn't have teased Mustang like that but it hadn't stopped him in the end.


**Disclaimer: **I am not Arakawa Hiromu, and so I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist and am making no profit off of this fic.

**AN: **Rated M for language and gore and mild sexual situations. This is what happened when I tried to write the alcohol experience of Ed's that I allude to in here. Yeah, I don't know either. Set in the same 'verse as Unexpected Methods of Communication and Concerning Tea, at about six months into their relationship. Based on the manga. (Edited 12.2013)

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**Interrupted** by luvsanime02

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Ed knew he shouldn't have teased Mustang like that but it hadn't stopped him in the end. And really, he'd mostly done it because he just flat out hadn't believed something so weird could be true. Sure, one time Mustang had reached an orgasm rather quickly when Ed had brushed his finger across the bottom of the man's foot. But considering his tongue had been playing with the man's cock at the time Ed had assumed that had more to do with it than anything else.

Otherwise, this meant that Ed was going to have to admit to himself that all alchemists were insane. Neurotic. Flawed in some fundamental, neurological way. He was a bit disgruntled by the thought. Mustang had seemed relatively normal in all the years they'd known each other. Why did the man have to choose now to reveal that he was odd too?

So yes, Ed really shouldn't have teased the man, and definitely shouldn't have done so in a public place. But this was about more than Mustang. This was about _science_, and how apparently the equivalent exchange for being able to wield the science of alchemy, to manipulate the very structure of the world around them, was that all alchemists were, quietly or not, mentally unstable.

It was a very unsettling realization, and thus slipped out of his mouth without conscious thought. "We're all nuts." A very brief pause followed his statement, but it was immediately followed by a deep-throated laugh. Ed watched absently as quite a few people in the restaurant turned to look at the source of the disturbance.

"Well, yes," Rebecca Catalina agreed merrily, even going so far as to lift the half-glass of red wine in her hand and raise it in mock salute. "Is this a new revelation?" Her teasing tone managed to make him relax enough to realize how tense he'd slowly been getting. Havoc was grinning lopsidedly at her, a certain fondness in his gaze.

Mustang, who'd been trying not to look at him for the past ten minutes or so in response to Ed's surprisingly inappropriate teasing below the table, now sent him a mildly exasperated but very lust-filled look. Ed had to swallow a snicker. They'd be having sex right now if they weren't in a restaurant, in front of friends, and Ed probably shouldn't have found the situation quite as funny as he did.

Breaking his gaze from Mustang's, hopefully before the other man could read his amusement, Ed turned a semi-apologetic look at the other two. "Actually," he elaborated, "I was referring to alchemists in general. We're all crazy, really. Mentally cracked. It probably stems from some sort of chemical imbalance. Maybe even directly correlated to the fluctuations caused during periods of temporary electrical discharges, namely transmuting. Actually, over a significant period of time, the brain likely starts to expect the pulses with an almost addictive dependency. Naturally, the absence of these pulses could cause states of heightened stress on the brain itself, a mental simulation of withdrawal from nothing more than the disturbance of set logarithmic patterns. Conversely, the continuation of these pulses c-"

"Edward." It was said softly, but the amusement came through clear as a slap to the head and Ed's teeth closed with a clack. He turned his head back to Mustang, slightly insulted that the man had so rudely interrupted him. Though perhaps it was payback for toeing off his shoe and Mustang's, and then running his toes all over the man's left foot with his right one for the previous ten minutes. If that was the case, then perhaps Ed deserved to be interrupted from his thoughts and he'd still have sex with Mustang later.

Though that idea didn't pan out when he looked over at Mustang, only to see his gaze was directed across the table. Following it, Ed found himself the sole subject of two concentrated gazes from Rebecca and Havoc, the latter of which had his eyebrows quirked up so far they disappeared under his hair. Now seeing Mustang's point and understanding his amusement, Ed opened his mouth, watched Rebecca's lips twitch like she was going to burst out laughing again any second, and closed his mouth again in defeat, letting it go with only a half-fake sigh.

"You know," Havoc broke into the silence, his eyebrows finally climbing back down, "I think you may have a point there, Ed." The man paused, and then snorted. "Not that I understood much beyond 'alchemy can screw with a person's head,' but that was the gist, right?"

"Indeed," Mustang murmured, taking a sip of his own drink. Personally, Ed thought that while Havoc might have understood the 'gist' of what he'd been trying to say, he'd also entirely missed the point. Alchemists were clearly insane. Was this caused by alchemy, or was there something about a person to begin with, some fundamental imbalance, that made them capable of transmuting?

Of course, the reason why alchemists were able to perform alchemy had something to do with the chemicals flowing through the brain, and not the brain itself. His tissue matter didn't look any different from Rebecca's, he knew, and the only other explanation would be that there was something different about their souls, which wasn't an explanation at _all_ but the largest copout in the world, in Ed's opinion. Everything had a _soul_, and Ed refused to believe that some souls were simply more special than others. The idea was too egotistical to seriously contemplate. No, the answer had to be in the brain, in the electrons and neurons and the rapid firing of synapses and releasing of chemicals.

So, did alchemy cause degenerative insanity through frequent use? Or could only the slightly unhinged use alchemy in the first place, and the electrical surges just exacerbated the problem? For example, Hawkeye was one of the sanest people Ed had ever come across. Although, her father had been an alchemist, a renowned one at that, who had passed on his secret knowledge of a highly specialized flame alchemy by tattooing it onto his only daughter's back…

Well, yes, that guy had definitely been insane as well. Maybe Hawkeye was lucky, not inheriting the ability to perform alchemy from her father. Not that Ed thought it was necessarily inherited, because there was a lot of evidence to the contrary, but on the other hand, those who were alchemists frequently had children who were. Though, Ed realized with another flash of insight, what the parent was passing onto the child could be the insanity itself. 'Thanks, Old Man,' he grumbled internally, mildly irritated at the thought. What he needed was a survey. He'd have to include personal backgrounds in his questions, ask about the subjects' families and individual histories.

Yes, Ed was going to have to draw up a chart based on how many times he used to use alchemy in the span of one month, breaking it down into the duration and strength of the alchemy he'd performed, in order to test his newfound hypothesis. And try to rule out extraneous factors by including how often he'd ate and slept, and the amount of stress he'd been under. That meant some measure of subjectivity was going to arise, but since this was a survey that was unavoidable anyway.

Of course, he'd have to ask Mustang to do the same so Ed would have fresher data. Al too, and Armstrong, and some of the other alchemists in the military's employ. He could always claim it was research related to his next project, and really, it could be. What if there was a difference with alkahestry though? How was he supposed to account for something like that? His brother could use it, but did not usually do so. And besides, he needed Al for his alchemy baseline. Well, perhaps he could ask Al to only do one form of transmuting one month, and another form the next? He'd need more than one month of sampling, obviously. Only, that would mean he'd have to explain his theory to Al which could potentially contaminate him as a test subject altogether, but Ed supposed he'd have to take the risk. Really, Ed was going to have to start drawing up a table-

It was the hand squeezing his thigh, rather high up on his thigh, that brought Ed's senses back out into the external world. He blinked. Looking at the others, Ed was able to discern that only a few seconds had gone by, as neither Rebecca nor Havoc were looking at him expectantly or especially concerned. In fact, they were both still chuckling at Mustang's jab. Which, now that Ed had reluctantly shelved his hypothesis and half-filled table into the back of his mind for the time being, he narrowed his eyes at.

Understanding the look immediately, as the man well should, Mustang took his hand off of Ed's thigh and promptly straightened back up, reaching for his glass of wine again to cover the movement. "I was referring to myself as well, you know," the man breathed out before sipping, and Ed turned his head away in tacit agreement. Besides, their food had finally arrived, and waiting for his lamb stew to be served was a much better use of his time. And to think he'd almost felt guilty about the whole foot thing.

Food took precedent for a few minutes, as food always did when out at a restaurant where one had to wait almost half an hour after ordering to actually eat, but the silence was eventually broken by Havoc.

"Okay now, time to be upfront. What does everyone think of Peters?" Ed snorted before he'd thought not to, and heard it echoed by the other two. He watched a scandalized lady two tables over turn her nose up at them but didn't particularly care. Peters was an idiot.

In fact, "He's a complete moron. Are we still taking bets on how long it is before he requests a transfer?" Ed had been recording Peters' progress, or lack of, and his interactions with the rest of the team, or lack of, and wanted to change his bet from next Tuesday to tomorrow.

"Nuh-uh, no can do, Ed. The times were locked in three days ago." Which was when the bets were placed, and also, not coincidentally, one day after the man had transferred into their command.

"We should give him a break," Rebecca muttered, but it lacked any real conviction. That Peters had hit on her twice already may have had something to do with it. Though, in the man's meager defense, Rebecca and Havoc's relationship wasn't officially known. Technically, if someone was blind and deaf, which Ed reasoned Peters might be, then one could mistake Rebecca for being single.

"But where, and how many?" Mustang supplied, sighing a little dramatically. "And how could we ever hope to make it look like an accident?" Ed laughed sharply, a little surprised despite himself, and Havoc chuckled while Rebecca guffawed again. He was pretty sure they were laughing for a different reason than him though. Havoc and Rebecca, for the joke, and Ed because he'd recognized the darker thread under Mustang's words that said he wasn't entirely joking. Deciding to ignore that undertone while in the middle of a restaurant, Ed turned back to his food.

The lamb was good, he reflected absently. Nothing on Izumi's cooking, but then, not much was. Still, it wasn't dry or otherwise cooked too long, and overall, Ed was happy with the texture. There was also some kind of sauce that he recognized after only one bite as something alcoholic, but it was a small amount. Ed refused to stop eating his food just because of that, no matter how much his cheeks tried to heat at the memory of his only other experience to date with alcohol.

Almost against his will Ed's gaze flicked to Mustang, but the man was concentrating on his own food, listening to Rebecca's quip about her quest to find Hawkeye 'a man, for god's sake' with open amusement. After a mental sigh of relief, the moment passed, and Ed threw in his own opinion.

"Leave it," he suggested. Rebecca opened her mouth to argue but Ed shook his head, pausing to dip his spoon into the broth and sip some of it up. It was an acquired taste, and was growing on him rapidly. "Look, I understand you want her to be happy," and he let his gaze flick to Havoc, "but Hawkeye has men falling all over themselves to take her out whenever she says the word. If she wanted to date someone, she would."

He noted Rebecca's eyes do their own flick in Mustang's direction. Ed scowled but the woman dove in, her whole body leaning forward in her zeal, and he realized suddenly that she must have been wanting to say this for a long while, but had kept quiet for whatever reason. "I'd like to think that too," she said smoothly, "but then again, I always thought maybe she was just waiting for someone in particular."

The comment was pointed, as much as possible without mentioning names, and everyone at the table was well aware of whom she was talking about. Mustang's mouth was opening, and so was Havoc's, but Ed just leaned back in his chair, not at all perturbed. "I already asked her if Mustang and I being in a relationship would bother her," he revealed. He used the time they were all frozen in apparent horror to eat some more of his dinner.

"You asked-?" Havoc started, his voice turned into a high-pitched whisper that Ed rolled his eyes at.

"I see." That had been Mustang, who was giving him the same evaluating look Ed had occasionally been on the receiving end of since he was eleven, the one that said plainly that Ed had just managed to shock Mustang yet again, even after six years of acquaintance. He sent back a sharp look of his own.

"You really didn't think I would?" he asked angrily. After all, Rebecca may have been the woman's best friend but that didn't mean Ed wasn't Hawkeye's friend too. It didn't mean he didn't respect her enough to talk with her about Mustang after they'd had sex that first time and started a relationship. A sudden thought occurred to him. "_You _talked to her after we slept together too, right?" Because if the man hadn't, if he'd just assumed that everything would be alright, Ed was going to be furious.

Mustang sent back his own offended look. They both ignored the slight choking coming from the other side of the table. Rebecca could assist Havoc if he actually stopped breathing. "Of course I did," he said softly, calmly, which meant he was a little upset with the question. Ed thought this was somewhat hypocritical of the man. Mustang seemed to realize that a split second later, because he dipped his head in apology. Ed might have stayed mad if he hadn't felt Mustang's leg bump lightly against his own. The touch was another apology, a personal one, and Ed went back to his stew with no further feelings of resentment.

They all talked and laughed some more, miraculously managing not to touch upon any other argumentative topics by being treated to Havoc's entertaining reenactment of lunch with Rebecca's mother and older sister. Said older sister was married, and had announced the week before that she was pregnant with her second child. Apparently, the whole point of the 'congratulatory lunch' of this week had been an attempt on the mother's part to covertly ask if Havoc was planning on marrying her younger daughter before or after Rebecca got pregnant herself.

Ed and Rebecca were in stitches before long at Havoc's dramatic imitations. A few minutes later, dessert was ordered. Rebecca went to use the restroom… and so did Havoc not even a full minute later. Ed and Mustang were left giving each other very amused looks. "At least they waited until after we ordered dessert," the man mused. Ed smirked, agreeing wholly, until he caught the soft "Too bad it's in use now" remark that came right after.

And now Ed was looking at Mustang, whose voice once again held an edge of seriousness under the joking statement. It took Ed a moment to notice his own head was shaking automatically. "I'm not having sex with you in the restroom," he stated flatly. Mustang hummed noncommittally, turning his head to idly watch the other diners talking quietly amongst themselves. Ed had to consciously stop grinding his teeth. "I'm not listening to those two having sex in the next stall," he pointed out, attacking the issue from another angle.

Mustang turned to look at him fully again. "You didn't really seem all that opposed to the idea earlier," the man commented, as though he was discussing someone's attire. There was a pause where Ed tried not to look too guilty and obviously failed. "Unless, of course, you _weren't_ trying to send me a signal." He was still staring straight into Ed's eyes, and okay, he did feel badly about before but definitely not bad enough that he was going to give in and he hoped his flat look conveyed that.

Apparently, it did, because Mustang quirked him a swift grin. "Not even crawling under the table after something you dropped? You do realize I can't even stand up right now and it's entirely your fault?" Ed glanced down, and yes, Mustang would never be able to dine here again if he stood up right now and turned to face the rest of the room.

Still, Ed quirked an eyebrow. "That was almost an hour ago, Mustang. How, exactly, is your lack of self-control my fault?"

Mustang's eyes flashed, and Ed knew this argument wasn't helping, but hell, the man had started it. "Forty-five minutes," Mustang nitpicked, and his voice went just that little bit quieter. "Besides, you've never complained about my stamina before." Ed bit the inside of his cheek. It was a good strategy; he could appreciate that. After all, they both thrived on sharpening their wit on each other. But Ed was still not having sex with Mustang in the restroom.

"And how would you expect to get to the restroom in your condition anyway?" he threw out, his voice snarky to Mustang's quiet.

The grin he received in return was mostly teeth. "That doesn't rule out the other option." The man even had the audacity to pick up his large, linen napkin and place it almost daintily over his lap. Ed tried to maintain his 'die slowly' look, but really he pretty much just wanted to burst out laughing.

Still didn't mean he was actually going to do it, but he loved this, loved fighting with Mustang when there was nothing really important at stake. Ed wasn't having sex in a public place and the man knew that. Ed doubted whether Mustang would go through with it even if Ed did offer, and this thought gave him pause. He took in Mustang's haughty, smug grin, the man clearly thinking that he'd won the argument, and Ed nodded sharply as though in agreement, even going so far as to push back his chair a tad.

The utterly stunned look on Mustang's face was completely worth it, although Ed was glad he was interrupted by the return of their friends. Not that it stopped him from cackling right then and there. He vaguely heard Havoc mumble "Did we miss something?" as Ed struggled to regain his breath. He also heard the underlying tone of embarrassment, the 'Were we that obvious?' underneath the first question, and Ed snickered anew.

"I think those are our desserts," was all Mustang said in response, to everyone, and the meal was finished rather quietly. Ed managed to catch Rebecca's eyes though, and grinned gently, letting her know she had nothing to be upset about. She beamed at him in return. Havoc could sweat it out until Rebecca filled him in later as far as Ed was concerned. Meanwhile, he didn't dare look to his right, especially when Mustang actually had to use Ed as a shield when they stood up to leave, for fear he'd burst out laughing again.

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That said, Ed was rather glad when they got back to Mustang's home, because attitude or not, of course he wanted to have sex. Right that minute, in fact, and so he led the way to the bedroom, walking rather faster than usual.

Whatever woman had first come up with the idea that ripping a guy's shirt open got them undressed quicker, Ed would like to have a few words with her. Maybe she could give him some pointers. Giving the offending fabric in front of him a momentary glare, Ed took another handful of the shirt with both hands and yanked down again. The cloth tore completely free, the buttons all either flying off or hanging on by a thread, and Mustang's chest finally came into view.

Ed would have been much more satisfied if he couldn't tell by the tight grip the man had on his shoulders that he was trying desperately not to laugh. Not that he could blame Mustang, as much as he'd like to. Besides, it only took a few seconds for the man's grip to ease, and for his hands to start moving down Ed's back again, and really, who would complain about fingers drumming down their spine?

He felt it a much more productive use of his time to run his tongue roughly across the man's collarbone, lift his head, and start sucking on Mustang's jaw, letting his tongue flicker out to taste. The quiet groan that sounded in the room made Ed chuckle deep in his throat, still not letting go of the patch of skin. Their playing at the restaurant had been a tease to them both, really.

A sudden distant knocking, which Ed realized with a jolt was someone at Mustang's front door, made Ed slump his head down to rest it on the bed in despairing defeat. The man's "Maybe they'll go away" came out tight and distantly pleading. Nevertheless, Mustang walked over to the dresser and got out another shirt, pulled the ruins of his first one off, and shrugged into the new one. The knocking had not ended. Ed was watching Mustang with one eye, his forehead still against the cool sheets.

The man left his shirt untucked, which made Ed give him a small smirk, but Mustang was already exiting the room and didn't notice. After he left, Ed started taking off his socks and footwear, along with his belt and outer jacket, hoping to speed up the process when Mustang returned.

It took several minutes for him to reappear, long enough that Ed was now sitting on the edge of the bed swinging his legs, though still with his shirt and pants on. Something in the atmosphere had turned cold and sent shivers down his spine. Mustang leaned against the doorway, looking utterly blank, and Ed started pulling off the rest of his dinner clothes, opened a different drawer and pulled out his own shirt, the closet already being opened by Mustang and their uniforms being taken out by said man.

They dressed in silence. It wasn't until they were both in uniform and leaving Mustang's apartment that the man spoke. "Peters' body turned up in an alley not twenty minutes ago, minus a few parts and a pulse." Fuck, that opened up a whole issue of problems Ed didn't want to untangle, that Mustang was probably already thinking up an itemized list for. There was a car waiting for them and they both got in, the door pushed shut behind them by an anonymous driver.

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The group was somber in the office. Rebecca and Havoc, who came in two minutes behind them but looked as though they'd been sleeping instead of anything else, were pale, their faces registering complete shock. Mustang saw them come in and nodded, turning around and heading back out the door. "Let's go," he ordered, voice controlled and firm, a careful sort of cautiousness creeping into his tone. Despite the fact that he had moved first, Hawkeye was in front of Mustang by the time he'd reached the door. Her gun was not out, but Ed noticed the safety was off all the same.

"You didn't have to wait," Rebecca commented to the room at large. Her hair wasn't even pulled back, but instead loose and flying behind her. It was Havoc who shook his head.

"We don't really know Peters all that well, any of us, but we can't rule out politics or multiple targets." The man had a cigarette in his mouth, but he hadn't lit it yet. Rebecca had been trying to get him to quit. Or rather, Havoc had been trying to quit for her, and the fact that he hadn't started smoking now despite the situation spoke more to Ed about their relationship than any words ever could have.

"Didn't," Ed couldn't help but point out, and Havoc grimaced but nodded, getting the point. On the way to the crime scene, where the body wouldn't have even been moved yet, was the time to be thinking, not feeling.

And Ed did think, the whole way over there. He thought about how Peters had smiled at everyone all the time, as though to cover up how nervous he really was. He'd never been sure of his welcome, probably because he _hadn't _been, in truth. He'd been… young, now that Ed thought about it. Closer to Ed's actual age instead of the more advanced years that he felt like he was most of the time. This had only been Peters' second year in the service. A time of supposed peace now, that had ended in an alley with no one but him and his murderer. Ed thought on the way over, but he didn't feel. He didn't feel a thing.

The body was missing its feet. And its eyes. Ed felt a strange urge to hit something, to yell, but there was no one to hit and yelling would only draw more attention to the scene. The investigations team was being as quick as possible, but Ed knew why it was taking so long. There was so much blood. It coated one of the alley walls in a gruesome spray, the coating not thick but widespread, and still slowly dripping. Ed was mildly fascinated by the sight, so he stared at it. He stared at the wall and not at the body of a man he'd spoken to, and not nicely, less than four hours ago. They must have left the restaurant around the time of the murder.

Soldiers were looking through the trash. Ed came to the conclusion that they were searching for Peters' feet, or possibly his eyes, and Ed hoped for their sakes they didn't find them. The press of bodies, all warm and breathing and alive, walked around in an orderly fashion. Mustang was talking to one of the investigators. Ed could hear the steady tone of the man's voice over the din of the others, but he already knew they'd found nothing.

Who knew why the man's throat had been slit? Why his body had been left to rot beside a dumpster and not in it, as though the man was that worthless even in death? If the murderer was still around here somewhere, watching…

Ed's eyes slid over those gathered, registered murmured comments about someone being alerted to the scene due to strange noises, and how the current theory was that the killer had been interrupted. He scanned everyone there, taking in faces and body language, but nothing stood out. If the murderer wasn't still around then no one here was going to know why Peters was dead.

"Falman, Breda," Mustang called, every inch the brigadier general now. He waited until they were both standing in front of him before he spoke, voice not raised above the din and certainly not lowered enough to seem suspicious. "Who were his friends?" he asked. The two men nodded and left, their orders given. The 'Who were his enemies?' half of the question didn't need to be spoken out loud.

"Sir," Hawkeye muttered, and Ed knew what she was thinking. He even agreed with her, but Mustang was already shaking his head.

"This wasn't an execution," Mustang overruled confidently. The man turned and looked at the body, stared without seeing, or maybe seeing too much. "This wasn't targeting us because of our goals. This was either completely random… or very personal." Ed had followed Mustang's gaze, and was now staring at what was left of Peters' face, trying desperately to remember if he'd even known what the man's first name had been while mulling Mustang's words over in his head. His earlier theory came to mind suddenly.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "at least we know it likely wasn't an alchemist." Mustang and the others turned to face him. Ed could feel their gazes but he didn't look up, eyes fixed on Peters' grey-tinged and red-smeared face. "It's too messy." He swallowed though, because Ed of all people knew how messy alchemy could get, but still. "Whoever did that," he gestured vaguely at the face, "did it with some kind of instrument. They gouged out half of his face."

And it was true. The man's cheekbones were visible and cracked, like something had punched through them. "Same with the feet, really." Cut at an awkward angle, diagonally, from the front of the foot near the ankle to the middle of the heel, right through the calcaneus instead of above it, part of the bone still there. Ed shook his head and looked away. Even after all this time, he was still shocked at how _white _bones looked. It was a white you could see in pitch black, through blood and gore.

Mustang was still watching him silently, even though the others were lost in their own thoughts or staring at the corpse themselves. Ed tried to convey that he was fine. After a moment, Mustang nodded. "Colonel," the man commanded, and though his eyes never left Ed's it was obvious he wasn't the one being spoken to. Hawkeye turned her sharp eyes from the crowd to Mustang and waited for his command. "Secure everything from Sergeant Peters' desk. You two," he continued without pause, flickering his eyes over Havoc and Rebecca, "look into any exotic exports or reports of black market sales that haven't been reported."

Hawkeye nodded, saluted, and then left, already grabbing other people along the way and issuing orders. Ed watched them jump, stammer, and salute her back as she moved on, never slowing down. Mustang was still watching him and eventually he turned back to meet the man's gaze, not sure what to say.

There was nothing to say, really. Mustang had wanted Peters dead, but had not had time to personally orchestrate his death. No, someone else had done so first and then left the body to rot. Did that make Mustang a better person, that he would have had the man killed quickly? That he would have made sure Peters wasn't found by the public to be gawked at? If Mustang had killed him, there wouldn't have been a body left to discover. Was this knowledge supposed to make Ed feel better?

"Coming?" Mustang asked, seemingly casual, but his hands were stuffed in his pockets and Ed knew it was to hide clenched fists.

Ed met that gaze evenly and thought about earlier, of a ripped shirt on the floor and dark eyes flashing at him from less than a foot away, a challenge clear in their depths. He thought mostly of fingers threading through his own, squeezing firmly.

And Ed surprised himself by smiling. Surprised Mustang too, judging by the slow blink he received in response. It was an honest smile, and it stayed. "Yeah, let's get out of here." He walked forward, away from the corpse and the blood, from the smell and the chill. Beside him, a set of footsteps joined his own, steady and absolute.


End file.
